‘Hello,’ she said apprehensively.
‘Rita, it’s Henry.’
Her heart fluttered and then immediately she panicked. She looked an absolute fright. She wrapped herself in a cardigan as though Henry could somehow see her through the intercom.
‘Oh, hello,’ she said.
‘I wondered if I could come up,’ he said.
She heard the hopefulness in his voice.
‘You didn’t have your sausages then?’ said Rita.
‘No, no sausages,’ said Henry miserably.
‘I’ll come down,’ she said.
‘Oh goodness,’ she muttered looking frantically around the bedsit. There was no time to tidy. She rushed to the bathroom and with despair, saw that her eyes were still red. Her hair wasn’t too bad, thank goodness. A quick brush would do. She put some powder over her eyes to cover the redness. She didn’t want Henry to know that she had been crying. She hurried down the stairs and opened the door. Henry stood on the step looking bedraggled. Behind him the rain pounded the pavement.
‘It’s thundering down,’ he said, dripping water onto the carpet.
‘Let me get you a towel,’ said Rita, hurrying back upstairs.
Henry followed her into the cosy bedsit and took off his rain splattered glasses but then realised his handkerchief was too damp to clean them.
‘I should take off my shoes,’ he said when Rita returned.
She handed him a dark green towel. It was soft and smelt of bluebells.
‘I’ll hang your coat to dry,’ she said.
He pulled it off gratefully and handed it to her.
‘I thought you’d be eating your sausages,’ she said and wondered why she couldn’t get her mind off Henry’s sausages.
‘They got thrown in the bin,’ said Henry sadly.
The thought of Henry’s sausages going in the bin made Rita sadder than ever.
‘I’ve just had a hot chocolate,’ said Rita. ‘Would you like one?’
‘Lovely,’ said Henry.
Rita reluctantly switched on the electric heater.
Henry felt weary. Everything seemed so hopeless. If the psychic couldn’t help him, then who could?
‘I went to see a psychic,’ he said.
Rita froze.
‘A psychic?’ she repeated, not turning to look at Henry.
‘He couldn’t even see me,’ said Henry tutting. ‘What kind of a psychic is that?’
‘You’re supposed to avoid anyone who practises divination or sorcery, interprets omens …’ she began. ‘Some of these people are possessed by demons.’
Henry came to stand beside her.
